Ubi Sunt
by KCUrquhart
Summary: Because I couldn't sleep after episode 1x11 and so I needed to write out a way where it could all end up 'Happily Ever After' somehow. And because we all secretly know that the Cellist is actually Clint.


Days. He'd been dead for days. Coulson dropped his head into his hands to try and stop the world from spinning. Of all of the things he'd been thinking, all of the crazy theories he hadn't let himself believe, never had he thought that Fury would have gone to those extremes.

A memory of the pain flashed through him. The white-hot lightning that had burned him from the inside out. It had danced from one nerve to the next, so overwhelming that even the faint memory of it was enough to make him want to curl up into a ball to try and get away from it.

He'd begged for death. Cried out for it. Yet Fury had chosen to bring him back despite the pain and lies involved. And that scared him. But right now the list of things that scare him is seemingly unending. That Fury had lied. That they had messed with his memories. That he'd been dead for days. That the mysterious clairvoyant had picked at his worst fears about what his supposed death had done to the one person in recent years that he had allowed himself to love..

He shuddered and took a deep breath, trying desperately to steady himself. If he wasn't careful the news would end up being too much for him to handle; just as the doctors had feared. He couldn't let it get to him like that. He had to pull himself together; to keep strong for the roller-coaster of emotions that he knew would be coming next. His team would want to know the truth; and they deserved it. But first he needed to confront Fury and find out what all they had done to him. Because if they'd altered one memory, it would be just like Fury to go back and alter a few more.

;;;

The bus was eerily silent when Phil had finally composed himself enough to risk venturing downstairs. He quickly glanced down at his watch. He'd thought it was the middle of the afternoon but maybe he'd gotten his internal clock screwed up while being held hostage. But no, the hands of the watch were pointing quite clearly to the 3 and that was most definitely sunlight streaming through the windows. So where was everyone?

He strained his ears but heard nothing. Not even the distinctive clacking of Skye typing away at her computer doing god knows what now that she had her bracelet removed. If he had to guess, he would bet that they had gathered down in FitzSimmon's lab. It was where they all seemed to end up, more often than not.

Sure enough he heard voices as he descended the stairs. The voices didn't stop as he walked in, which he took as a good sign. Either they had been genuinely discussing the fact that May is damned good at cheating at poker without ever getting caught, or else they'd gotten good at seamlessly switching topics. Both options made him equally proud at seeing them all chatting so easily together. It was nice to know they were a cohesive team now, what with May having finally accepted Skye as an asset.

"What do you think, boss?" Ward asked from where he was leaning against a counter, arms crossed. "We know she cheats, we just can't figure out how."

"And you expect me to know?" Coulson asked, settling himself to lean against the edge of the doorframe at the bottom of the steps.

"Well you two do have a history together." Simmons started.

Fitz finished her thought. "So if anyone would know, it's you."

Coulson shook his head. "Sorry. can't help you. Whatever May's trick is, I haven't been able to figure it out either. Best advice I can give you is to stop playing poker with her. And especially don't change it to betting for things besides money. That's three days I'll never get back…" Coulson trailed off. Not really lost in the memory of being roped into helping May redo her kitchen, but very aware of how his silence would add to May's mystique. Sure enough, Skye's eyebrows were about as high as they could possibly go.

Before anyone could ask anything further, May's voice came over the comms. "Just a warning that we're two hours out, sir."

Ward's brow furrowed. "I wasn't aware that we had another assignment."

"We don't." Coulson shrugged and stood upright. "We're stopping at New York HQ for a couple days to get some things sorted. Plus, I figured you all deserved a bit of a vacation."

He could hear their hushed whispers as he climbed back up the stairs. All he could do was hope that Skye would at least remain silent about what she had overheard him saying while he was still being held captive. Though knowing her and her talkative nature it was bound to slip out soon enough, whether she meant it to or not. Even without Skye's information Ward would know something was different. He was trained to notice the subtleties. Even though Coulson had no intention of explaining himself, he would still be disappointed if Ward didn't show up at his office door sometime before they landed in order to demand some sort of explanation.

Which is exactly why he changed his course and headed up to the cockpit. May greeted him with a silent wave without glancing up as he sat down in the co-pilot's seat. They sat together quietly for a few minutes as Coulson tried to figure out exactly how he wanted to broach the delicate subject of asking if she had known the truth about Tahiti.

"Five days, six hours, and 59 minutes. If we're being exact." May spoke up, breaking the silence. Coulson looked at her, confused. "That's how long you were actually dead." Her voice was the same calm tone as it always was but he noticed the way her hands shifted slightly on the controls in front of her.

"How did you find out?"

"I wasn't supposed to." She shook her head, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye before turning back to stare ahead. "But there are very few Level 7s working in the 'Red Tape Department'. So I was the one given the paperwork and told to make it disappear. It said Top Secret and was sealed but it also had your name on it so I took a peek. I didn't get a chance to fully read everything, but I know that Fury pushed a lot further than he should have in order to get you back. And that he altered a lot of memories while he was at it."

Coulson sunk deeper into his chair, the effort of maintaining his composure effectively disappearing with her last sentence. So he had been right in assuming Fury had changed more than just his memories of the procedure. Tahiti wasn't the only memory he had that was a complete lie. "What else?"

May shook her head. "Sorry, Coulson, that's not something that I can tell you."

"You know though, don't you?" Coulson didn't bother trying to thread any anger or threats into his tone. They'd been friends too long for that to be necessary or for him to think that that could possibly work.

"Of course I know. But I've been trusting what I read in the doctors' reports. If you found out the truth it could overwhelm your system. So when you showed up with some story about 8 seconds I played along, because that's what was needed."

"You didn't do any research into it on your own?" Coulson asked, amazed.

"I didn't say that." She smirked. "I paid attention. I noticed when something you said or did didn't quite match the old you. There's very few differences. New you is nicer and less likely to threaten to tase people. But that could be the result of any old near-death experience."

"Or actual death experience." Coulson interjected.

"Or that." May smiled softly at him. "But there was one difference so large that I was forced to contact Deputy Director Hill in order to discuss it."

"What?" Coulson sat upright, worried now. In his mind he hadn't been acting any differently at all, let alone enough to warrant that type of concern. What did he not remember that could cause her to go to Hill?

"Like I said, I can't tell you. Not here and not now. It's something Fury needs to explain for himself, because only he knows the reason why he did it."

When May didn't elaborate Coulson sighed and moved for the door. Just before he reached it May spoke up, whispering, "Phil? Just make sure to ask about the Cellist."

;;;

Hill was there to greet them when they landed at the airfield. Her face was half-hidden behind dark sunglasses. What he could see was her lips, pressed into a thin line. "You weren't scheduled to land here." She shouted to be heard over the roar of the engines cooling down.

"What? I can't miss home?" Coulson smirked as he strode towards her.

Her stance didn't shift but he could feel the disapproval rolling off of her. "Let me rephrase." She snapped. "You shouldn't be here, Coulson."

"And yet, here I am." He stopped a foot in front of her, pulling himself up to his full height to bring them face to face. The small smile he'd been keeping up fell easily away. "Fury has things to answer for. I'm not leaving until he does."

They faced off for a long thirty seconds. He could see the exact moment her resolve broke. She spun on a heel and strode off towards the line of waiting vehicles. Phil hurried after her.

The drive was long and achingly familiar as Hill wound her way effortlessly through the rush hour traffic. They didn't speak. The one time Phil had tried to bring up Tahiti, Hill had turned on the radio and turned up the volume. So he contented himself with staring out the window at the skyline of the city he hadn't been to in… well… he genuinely didn't know when he had been here last.

The last time that he could remember had been so long ago, even without taking the possibility of altered memories into regard. It had been back before New Mexico and before Stark and Malibu. Back when his job had just been trying to keep tabs on possibilities for the Avengers Initiative while coordinating ops with his Strike Team Delta.

His lips curled up into a smile as he remembered how much simpler it had all been; how much happier. All of those long nights working stakeouts, just the three of them on comms swapping stories or Clint telling his horribly cheesy jokes or, the one time, where they'd somehow ended up discussing the merits of Baroque versus Renaissance style architecture. He'd known that they would always have his back no matter what. And now they, like the rest of the world, thought that he was dead and gone.

He had wanted to check up on them before now. Or, he thought he had. There were memories of lying on a beach in Tahiti and getting a memo from Fury updating him on their statuses. Except that had never happened. So who knows where they really were or what they were actually doing right now. For all he knew they could be dead or demoted to a desolate base in Antarctica.

They passed a billboard covered in graffiti, a large stylized A in the center. Coulson's smile turned into a full-out grin. Because that's what they were doing. They were Avengers now. He'd seen them on commercials and posters and in toy store windows. No matter what else happened, his two Agents were heroes.

;;;

"I thought I told you to send him on his way." Fury sighed as Coulson followed Hill into his office. Fury was standing in front of the wall of windows, his back to them. The lights of the skyline and sunset caused him to be cast in shadows. A dramatic look that was surely his intention.

"He insisted, sir." Hill stood at a lazy attention.

"And since when do his orders outrank mine?"

"Since he knows about Tahiti."

Coulson saw Fury stiffen. "Run that by me again, Agent Hill. I must have misheard you." He turned so that he could fix Hill with his one-eyed stare.

Hill sighed quietly and repeated herself. "Agent Coulson has become aware of the events surrounding his death and resurrection. Is that clear enough for you, sir?" She spat out the last word before stalking from the room without waiting for a response.

Coulson watched her leave before turning back to Fury who said nothing. He simply walked silently over to his desk and sat behind it, motioning for Coulson to sit across from him. Coulson walked over to the desk but stayed standing. "I think you owe me a few answers, Nick."

"Well shit." Fury groaned. "How much do you know and how the hell did you find out?"

"Not much. Just that I was dead for a lot longer than a few seconds. I figured it out while being held captive. See, they were curious as to how I was still alive. They were quite willing to help me dig past the false memories and discover the real ones. It's rather fortunate for everyone involved that my team arrived when they did. Or else you'd have a group of very nasty people out there who know that you have access to technology that can bring the dead back to life. Whether they want it or not." Phil's steady tone may have slipped slightly during the last few words as the memory of the pain washed over him again.

"Tell me, Nick, old pal." He spoke the words slowly and distinctly. Filling each one with as much venom as he could muster. "Did you listen to me beg for death or did you just mute the video feed?"

Fury flinched. Coulson watched patiently, willing to outlast, him however long it took. He would force Fury to speak first. The silence stretched on. Coulson studied Fury's face, looking for any hint of remorse among the familiar anger.

"I listened." Fury whispered finally. He looked up as Coulson finally sat down in one of the two less-than-comfortable chairs facing Fury's desk. "I was in the observation room the whole time. Doctor after doctor after technician came in, all asking me if I was sure. Telling me that you wouldn't be able to handle it. But I told them to keep going. What was the worst that could happen? If it failed you would still be dead.

"But it worked! Just look at you." Fury gestured towards Coulson. "Same as you always were. Still damn-near the best agent we've ever had. Out there doing what you do best and saving the world. So are you going to sit there and tell me I made a mistake in bringing you back?"

Phil considered his words carefully. It made sense, considering the paperwork he had signed way back when he had first joined SHIELD. Agents were SHEILD property, in both life and death. Whatever SHIELD decided to do with them, that's what was done. But there had to be a line somewhere. "I was begging for death."

Fury nodded. "I know. And I cannot even imagine that level of pain. But you were needed, Phil." He hesitated and swallowed hard before continuing. "I'll admit that, when I started, I was expecting a better outcome. I didn't go into it with the plan of altering memories."

"Yet that's what you did."

Fury nodded. "There was no other choice. It was a consensual agreement that knowledge of the operation and of the pain that occurred during both it, and your recovery, would have jeopardized your mental faculties."

"Okay." Coulson leaned back in the chair as Fury looked up startled.

"Okay?"

"Yes. Okay. You made a decision - probably not the best one - but it's been made and there's no going back."

Fury relaxed. "I'm glad you see it that way. I was wor-"

"However," Coulson cut him off. "Now that we know that knowledge won't affect my faculties, full disclosure would be appreciated."

"Meaning?" Fury's eye narrowed dangerously.

Coulson smirked, enjoying the rare chance at a power play despite the horrible circumstances that had created it. "I want you to tell me about the Cellist."

Of all of the reactions he had been expecting, to see Fury's face fall and his whole body seem to shrink in on itself was not it. It was as if every last ounce of intimidation had gone out of him, leaving just a shell of the figure Coulson was so used to. Which terrified him. If the truth about the Cellist was as bad as all that then maybe he really was better off not knowing.

"The truth?" Fury asked. Coulson nodded before he could lose his nerve. Fury sighed and continued. "The Cellist was a cover story we created about four years ago."

Coulson gasped, feeling as if he'd been punched in the chest. "She's not real?"

Fury held up a hand. "Hold on, I'm not done. The cover story was created to protect you and your actual significant other. Seeing as you both worked higher up in SHIELD and were out in the field quite often, it was necessary to take countermeasures to ensure neither of you could be used against the other."

"So she was real." He wasn't sure if that made things better or worse.

"Well, sort of. If by she you mean he."

Coulson froze and blinked slowly, trying to calm himself. "I'm assuming that the fact that I can only remember ever being attracted to females has something to do with you messing around inside my brain?"

"Not as much as you might think. I've known you for a long time and I've only ever seen you express interest in one or two men. It wasn't that hard to rewrite a few memories and embellish a few others. Basically, we went a little Freud on you."

Coulson gritted his teeth. "You have no idea how furious I am right now, Nick, and you and I are going to be having a very long discussion about boundaries that you will not enjoy. But for now I'm going to not break your nose in exchange for you telling me who the Cellist really is and if they still think that I'm dead."

"Of course they still believe you are dead. They aren't Level 7, and even if they were I would make sure that they were never made aware of it."

"Because you're a dick." He grumbled under his breath.

"Because he had already grieved plenty by the time we managed to bring you back. And because he would never have approved of the extremes I went to to revive you."

Coulson stood up and leaned across the desk until he was only a few inches away from Fury's face. "Who. Is. He?" He ground out.

"The only person it ever could have been. Agent Barton."

Coulson stumbled backwards a few steps as Fury's words sunk in. Barton. The Cellist was Barton. The truth seemed to override whatever blocks they had put up in his mind. Memory after memory came flooding back. Their first date. Their first kiss. Moving in together. Fuck, they'd gotten so far along in their relationship. But there were too many things all at once. His mind was drowning in the flood of moments and details as everything from the last two years finally slipped into its proper place. All of the false memories being washed away and replaced with the truth.

Before he knew what he was doing Phil was running. Out of Fury's office and down the halls towards the elevators. The only thing in his mind was getting to Clint and telling him the truth. Clint needed to know that Phil was alive and okay and very suddenly missing him quite desperately.

Hill stopped him as he neared the row of elevators. He moved to push her out of the way but she held her ground. "Do you even know where you're going?" She raised an eyebrow and smirked as Phil realized that she was right. He had no idea if Clint was out on a mission, let alone if he still lived in their old apartment. "First off, take the service elevator down the hall. It's faster and Fury won't check it right away. Second, he's over at Stark Tower. The whole team somehow ended up moving in there. I think Tony tricked them or something." She had to shout the last part because Phil was already running again, down the hall to the other elevator.

;;;

It wasn't until Phil pulled the borrowed SHIELD vehicle into a parking space in the Tower's parking garage that he paused to wonder if this was actually such a good idea.

To Clint, Phil had been dead for the better part of a two years. He would have grieved and moved on by now. Who was Phil to bring up all of that pain again? Wouldn't it be better just to let Clint go on believing that Phil really had died? Phil considered it for a solid minute but every time he thought about turning around and driving back to the Bus his heart felt like it was being torn from his chest.

No, now that he remembered just how much he and Clint had been through together, there was no way that he could turn tail and leave it all behind. But he couldn't just go waltzing into the room and say "Not dead." either. There had to be some way to give Clint some sort of warning. Someone who could go in ahead of Phil to help soften the blow.

He blamed the fact that he'd had his brain messed with for it taking nearly another minute before he remembered Natasha.

The first obstacle, however, turned out to be convincing Jarvis. Phil had headed for the entrance that he remembered from when he had come here to ask for Stark's help with the Tesseract. The entrance was larger now; more grand, if that was even possible for Stark. There were even a few small Avengers related prints on the walls and a welcome mat in front of the door.

'It almost looks like people enjoy living here.' Phil thought happily.

Phil held his SHIELD ID up to the scanner beside the door. Instantly the lights went red and Jarvis' voice came over the speakers. "Please identify yourself."

"Agent Phil Coulson, of SHIELD."

"I'm sorry that is incorrect. Please state your actual identification." Jarvis' voice was anything but the automated speech of the typical alarm system. Phil could hear the barely contained anger.

"I am Agent Phillip J. Coulson, of the Strategic Homel-"

He was cut off by Jarvis as the lights darkened. "You are an intruder and have thirty second to explain this distasteful rouse before I summon security to remove you from the premises."

"It's going to take more than thirty seconds to explain. Plus, I'd rather not get security involved and risk making a commotion that could draw Clint's attention to my presence before someone's had a chance to prepare him."

The angry red light's seemed to lighten a fraction of a degree. "All of my scans are showing that you are indeed who you claim. Yet I know for a fact that Agent Coulson died during the events of the Helicarrier attack in May 2012. I scanned SHIELD records for a year for any trace of your survival and found nothing. So you can understand my hesitance at believing what I'm seeing."

"Would a DNA sample help?" Coulson quipped.

"Quite."

Coulson barely kept his face straight. "I was joking, but if it will help get my through the door."

"It will help verify your identity. I said nothing about you getting through the door."

Coulson sighed. "Jarvis, please? I need to speak to Agent Romanov. It's a matter of grave importance. Could you please just tell her that Fury tricked me. Tell her that I remembered none of what Clint and I were or else I would have been here two years ago."

"Agent Romanov was alerted to your presence the moment I failed to find a flaw in your identification. She has been listening to our conversation since you agreed to a DNA sample."

Coulson perked up. "Natasha?" He spoke upwards, facing towards the small camera he knew was in the corner. "I need your help. Fury brought me back, but he dug around inside my head in the process. He altered memories. And to be honest I'm-" Phil suppressed a shudder, "I'm still struggling with the whole 'What's real and what isn't' thing. A familiar face that I'm at least 90% sure I can trust would go a long way about now."

He stayed staring up into the camera as he finished speaking. This was Natasha; either she would believe him or she wouldn't. There was no amount of begging or pleading that would convince her to change her mind. All Phil could do was hope that she would trust their years working together and at least let him in the door.

There was a small buzzing sound and the click of a door unlocking. "Agent Romanov and Captain Rogers are in the gym and ask that you join them immediately." Jarvis said as the door swung open.

The ride up to the residential floors felt agonizingly slow. It was more than enough time for Phil to think up dozens of ways that Natasha could react when he stepped through the door. Her killing him was very high up on the list. Followed closely by her beating him to a pulp and leaving him to drag himself back to headquarters. Pretty much all outcomes involved at least some form of violence, even if it was only a broken finger or two. Which he would be very happy to put up with for the joy of getting to see her again. Even if they decided that he shouldn't tell Clint, it would be nice to have some sort of tangible proof to help him figure out which memories were real and which were Fury's concoction.

The gym was surprisingly small and simple for being in Stark's tower. The machines were all state of the art and the paint and floors were pristine. Everything looked nearly new except for the sparring mats in the far corner, which had tears and lumps from overuse. Nat and Steve were standing near the mats, both in matching poses of arms crossed and legs wide. All weariness and defense.

Natasha's eyes narrowed as Phil approached. Steve, to Phil's quiet surprise, seemed to pale and his eyes widened. "It's like seeing a ghost." He whispered to Natasha.

"I assure you, I'm very much alive." Phil said. He came to a stop a dozen feet away from them. An attempt to give Natasha room to judge him before allowing him to get closer.

She surveyed him. Her eyes dragged slowly upwards and downwards multiple times, taking in the smallest of details. Eventually her eyes landed solidly on his chest. Phil froze in place as she stepped forward. He knew exactly what she was thinking.

"Let me see it." A small nod towards his chest was all the prompting he needed. He quickly undid the buttons of his dress shirt and slid the material aside to reveal the large pink scar across his chest. Out of the corner of his eye Phil could see Steve shift his stance awkwardly. Natasha, however, didn't move an inch. She simply stared at the mark on Phil's chest.

"It's really me, Natasha." Phil breathed, barely making any sound.

Her hand moved forward and he forced himself not to flinch as skin touched skin, her fingers trailing softly along the scar. "You were dead for days. I stood by your corpse. I watched the video of your last breath. Nearly two years ago." She looked up to meet his eyes. "How can you be here?"

Phil wanted to duck his head but resisted. She deserved for him to at least hold her gaze. "Would you believe me if I said that Fury is a manipulative bastard?"

Her lips quirked up at the corners as she huffed out a small laugh. "Seriousness, Coulson."

"According to the files, I was dead for just over five days. I can't explain to you exactly how they brought me back, only that it involved a lot of controversial techniques and a lot of pain." Phil was proud of himself when his voice didn't break. "Until a few days ago, I believed that I had only been dead for 8 seconds before being quickly revived and being sent to Tahiti to recover. I can't tell you when I supposedly arrived in Tahiti or when I left. The first clear memory I have after coming back was of waking up in my bunk at the Hub and being told Fury was giving me the Bus and a new team. That was nearly 6 months ago."

Natasha's fingers froze where they had been tracing absent-mindedly against his scar. "And your memories of Clint?" she asked hesitantly.

"Fury replaced them with false memories. He made me believe that the Cellist cover story was real."

Her hand pulled away as Natasha quickly backpedaled a few steps. "The Cellist?" Phil nodded. "But you remember now?"

Coulson nodded again then shrugged, buttoning his shirt back up. "I remember most of it. It's a bit overwhelming at the moment though. It's a lot to take in. So many things are so different than what I thought."

"I know." Natasha smiled reassuringly. "Trust me, Coulson. I know what it's like, having people inside your head and messing with it." She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Clint does too. We'll figure this out together; just like we always do."

Phil smiled down at her, thankful for the millionth time that he had trusted Barton's instincts with bringing her in rather than assassinating her. He reached up to grasp the hand that was resting on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. Natasha laughed and pulled her hand away, only to wrap her arms around him instead and pull him into a tight hug. "I've missed you." She muttered into his ear. He smiled and hugged her tighter.

"Right, so…" Steve spoke up when they showed no sign of breaking apart any time soon.

Phil quickly dropped his arms and took a small step back. He could feel his cheeks turning bright red as he realized what their reunion must have seemed like to Steve who didn't know about their long friendship. "Sorry." he mumbled.

"Don't be." Phil glanced up to see that Steve was beaming. "I get it. You've been gone a long time, sir. It's good to have you back."

"Thank you, Captain. But before we-" Phil started. Before he could finish, the door to the gym slammed open.

"What the hell is going on here?!" Stark stormed into the room. "Jarvis said someone pretending to be Agent showed up and that you let them in. Are you - " Stark stopped mid-step as his eyes landed on Phil. "crazy?" He whispered.

"Hello, Stark." Coulson nodded at Stark in the most mild-mannered way he could muster.

Stark simply gaped back at him. Eyes dancing back and forth between Phil, Natasha, and Steve as if he could reason out the truth through looks alone.

"It's not an imposter." Steve offered. "It actually is Agent Coulson."

"But - But - " Stark stammered. "LMD?" He glanced over at Natasha who shook her head. "You're sure? You tested?"

"No." Steve and Natasha spoke at the same time. Coulson noted the vastly different tones. Steve sounded hesitant and suddenly uncertain. Natasha was defiant and moved to stand partially in front of Phil, as if defending him.

"So you're just taking his word for it then?" Stark spat at Natasha.

She raised an eyebrow, her face transforming easily into the one Phil recognized from the photos of her days before SHIELD. "Yes. I am. Do you have a problem with that?" She challenged.

Stark seemed to falter a bit under her intensity. "I'm just saying. I think we should run a few tests to make sure. At least some basic blood work."

Natasha growled slightly but turned to face Phil. "He's right. It would probably be the safest route. Just to eliminate all other possibilities. So we can be sure before we tell anyone else."

Phil nodded. It made sense. A lot of it. He actually probably should have had tests run before he'd come to the Tower. But then again, he'd had Jemma run tests on him before and they had all come back normal. So what's to say that anything would show up even if there was something amiss.

He looked over to Stark. "Whatever you need me to do to reassure you that I'm really me."

Stark said nothing; glaring silently at him as Natasha led them from the room.

;;;

Stark's tests took most of the rest of the day. Blood work and scans of every sort. When the first few all came back normal Stark had summoned Dr Banner to help. The two of them had poured over result after result and every single one said that Coulson was who he said he was.

"But it's impossible." Stark muttered for the millionth time in the last hour.

"So you've said, yet here he is." Natasha grumbled. She was stretched out across the couch in the far corner of the room, having retreated there after one too many comments from Stark about her hovering causing him to lose focus.

"Tony's just being thorough." Steve huffed. Phil could see how frazzled the man was and he didn't blame him. Coulson's return had to be difficult for them all and it fell to Rogers to keep Stark and Natasha from tearing into each other too much. It was a job he didn't envy. "We need to make absolutely certain before we take this to Barton."

Bruce looked up from his microscope. "So, we are going to tell Barton, then?"

"That is the reason that I came here, yes." Phil said. "No offense to you all, but I don't know you well enough to risk the backlash that my being here could create." He turned to Natasha. "You excluded, of course." She waved one hand in a lazy acknowledgement.

"Well that makes me feel special." Stark snarked. "And after all I've done for you."

"All you've done for me is to give me headache after headache while letting me clean up your messes. Or are we forgetting the Stark Expo fiasco."

"At least you didn't have to pretend to be his assistant." Natasha said.

"True. At least there was that."

Stark scoffed. "You know, I am really not feeling the love here guys. Stark Expo was a long time ago. I've changed." He raised a hand up to his chest, feigning insult, before continuing on. But Coulson wasn't listening, his eyes were still on Stark's chest.

"The arc reactor is gone." He spoke the words more to himself that to anyone else. Yet all eyes turned on him. "Your arc reactor is gone." He repeated more firmly.

Stark glanced down at his own chest and Phil could see the internal battle between honesty and playing it off as a joke. "It's been a long two years. I made some mistakes. Made some right choices too. Still not sure which category this belongs in." He drummed his fingers along where the metal had once been. "But, hey, it's not like I can go back and put the shrapnel back in, so I'm stuck with it."

The room fell into an uneasy silence at Stark's bluntness. Bruce and Tony both shifted to place a comforting hand on Stark. The movement was small and intimate. For Phil, it drove home just how long he had been gone. The last time he had seen these people in a room together they had been ready to tear each other's heads off. Now they were each other's trusted friends and teammates. It made Phil nostalgic for all of the moments he had missed during the last couple years; for the moments Fury had stolen away from him.

Phil jumped at the hand that landed on his shoulder. He turned to see that Natasha had moved to stand behind him. Her face was drawn into tight lines and it drew his attention to a faded scar along her right temple that was new to him. "You've been gone for two years, Coulson. Things are different than when you left. But it's a good different." She glanced over at the other three who had returned to their work. "I don't understand how, but you were right when you told Fury that this team would work."

;;;

It was nearly nightfall by the time everyone had agreed that Coulson was indeed Coulson. Which meant that now came the difficult part of finding a way to tell Clint. They had been discussing options while Stark and Banner ran their tests, but the only thing that anyone could agree on was that Natasha should be the one to go in first to help soften the blow.

Which is how they ended up gathered in Stark's opulent kitchen, quietly bickering about the final details.

"And I told you, Tony. Coulson just walking in there would be an extremely bad idea." Steve said.

"But-" Tony started.

"No, Tony." Bruce interrupted. "It's already been settled."

They were all careful to keep their voices low. Clint was in the living room, just a room away, and they didn't want him to hear them and come investigate.

Phil was ignoring the three's bickering and stood off to one side near Natasha. He could hear the sounds of Dog Cops drifting through the doorway and it was making it impossible to concentrate on anything beyond the fact that Clint was so close.

"It's going to be fine." Natasha nudged his shoulder. "Are you ready?"

He took a deep breath, letting it out through his nose before nodding. "As ready as I'll ever be." He followed her as far as the doorway, careful to stay out of sight as Natasha went to join Clint on the couch.

;;;

Clint smiled up at Nat as she sat down next to him. His smile faltered at the look of concentration on her face. He immediately reached over to pause the tv, turning to give her his full focus. "What's wrong? What happened?"

She shook her head, staying silent for a moment in what he recognized as her trying to gather her thoughts. "You're scaring me, Nat."

"It's good news, I promise." She tried to smile reassuringly but it didn't quite work.

"Usually when someone says that, they're lying."

She shook her head again. "No, I mean it. This is good news. It's just - " she hesitated. Clint was becoming genuinely worried now. Nat was hardly ever this out of her element. "It's just that this news is equally impossible. But however impossible it seems, you need to trust me when I say that it isn't. That we've checked it out as thoroughly as we possibly can - and with us that's about as thoroughly as super-humanly possible - and everything says that this is real."

Clint gulped. "This still doesn't sound like good news."

She sighed. "Clint, do you remember June, two years ago? The theory that Tony threw out that made you punch him hard enough to nearly break his jaw?"

Clint's heart seemed to stop in his chest. Because there were very few reasons why she would bring up that horrible conversation. And only one of those reasons was serious enough to match her concern.

"Do you remember?" She pressed when he didn't reply.

"How could I forget." He closed his eyes against the memory. "He thought Fury had lied... That Coulson could still be alive. But that's impossible, Nat. We both know that it's impossible." His voice broke on the last word. He could feel his arms starting to shake. Because that's exactly what she had said: that it seemed impossible but that it wasn't. He opened his eyes to try and find Nat's; needing to see what she was feeling. There was sadness and hope in her eyes and that was too much for Clint to handle.

Tears were pouring down his face as he crumbled onto the ground. "He can't be. Please, Natasha. Please tell me that he can't be. It's been too long. He couldn't have done that to me. Please." The words were spewing out of his mouth without his thought or consent. Somewhere in the edges of his mind he registered that Natasha's arms were around him and that she was whispering soft reassurances in his ear. But he neither felt nor heard her.

Some time later his sobs begin to subside. His breathing slowly evened out. When he felt like he could maybe, possibly, handle the answer, he asked her, "Is Phil alive?"

Her small nod was all it took for the last of the fight to go out of his body. He wiped the tears from his eyes and pushed himself back up onto the couch. Nat looked up at him worriedly. "Clint?"

He shushed her. "No. It's fine. It'll be fine. It's just gonna take some time to get used to it. But - but, okay. He's - alive. It was a lie or a trick or something. Fury lied. That's what Fury does." He reached down and cupped her face, using his thumb to brush away the single tear on her cheek. "It's been you and me for this long. We've proven we don't need him. We'll be fine."

She shook her head. "You don't understand, Clint. He didn't leave you. He didn't know."

Clint withdrew his hand. "What do you mean 'he didn't know'? How could he not know? What, he just woke up and forgot that he and I had been talking about getting married? That we lived together? All of it?"

Nat moved to join him on the couch. "I said that this would be impossible to believe. But I know the face of someone who is scared to trust their own memories because others have been playing with their mind." She rested her hand over his. "We both know that feeling. It's terrifying. That's what he's feeling right now. He's had more than just the last two years stolen from him. He lost everything that you and he had ever had. But he got it back, and the very first thing he did was come for you."

There was movement at the edge of Clint's vision and his eyes snapped to the doorway. There was nothing there but Clint knew. He gasped for breath. "He's here, isn't he?"

Natasha nodded. "This is entirely up to you. If it's too much too fast then we can wait until another day."

"No!" Clint shouted the word before catching himself. "I mean, no. I need to see him for myself. To make sure."

"Of course." Nat squeezed his hand before calling out for Coulson. A half a second later and there Phil was, standing in the doorway and looking for all the world as if it were any other ordinary day. Same impeccable suit and thinning hair, only with a few more wrinkles around his eyes. It was the most heartbreaking and beautiful thing Clint had ever seen.

"Phil?"

The other man nodded and Clint was suddenly on his feet and across the room, throwing himself into Phil's arms.

;;;

Phil froze as Clint ran towards him. A large part of him was prepared for a fist across his jaw. It was no less than he deserved after seeing how much anguish he had caused Clint. Instead he found arms being wrapped around him, clinging on for dear life. And it was all Phil could do to return the gesture.

It was the most 'right' thing he had felt since coming back from the dead. This. Being here with Clint. He smiled through the tears threatening to spill out of his eyes, burying his face into the crook of Clint's neck. "I'm so sorry." Phil whispered into the skin there. "I didn't know. I'm sorry. How could I have forgotten."

Clint leaned back just far enough that they could look at each other face to face. Phil stayed silent, waiting as Clint studied his eyes. "Nat's right. You can tell." Clint stroked one finger delicately across the lower edge of Phil's right eye. "You really didn't know, did you?"

Phil shook his head, leaning into Clint's hand as it shifted to stroke his cheek. "It seems so crazy now, that anyone could have managed to make me forget this." Phil rested his forehead against Clint's, letting his eyes drift shut. "Three days ago I thought my life had been filled with Tahiti and sunshine and cello music. Now I find out that I'm head over heels in love with a smart-assed Avenger. It's a lot to take in."

Clint laughed bitterly. "That's okay, because three days ago I was still having nightmares every night about sitting beside your dead body for three long days, praying that somehow you'd wake up. Now here you are."

Phil hands fisted into the back of Clint's shirt, trying to pull him closer. "I'm sorry." He muttered.

"Stop apologizing." Phil could feel Clint's cheek move as his lips shifted into a smile. "You're alive and you're here. The only person who owes either of us any sort of apology is Fury. And I have a feeling that we can use this to get just about anything we want."

Phil smiled too, having forgotten how infectious Clint's happiness could be. "Well, I already have the Bus. But I guess I could probably get that aquarium now."

Clint pulled back and opened his mouth as if to ask what the hell Phil was talking about. Phil put a finger to his lips. "It's a long story. I'll tell you later." Clint smiled again and Phil couldn't resist replacing his finger with his lips. Stark's cry of "Get a room." only made Clint deepen the kiss further, and right now, Phil couldn't be bothered to care about how many other people were privy to this moment. Because Clint was here and kissing him, and that was the first thing in a very long time that seemed to make any sense.


End file.
